Fragments of a Life
by we're-just-stardust
Summary: An exploration of Anna's perspective during season 4. Canon, might become AU.
1. Chapter 1

This is my very first fic—exciting and nerve-racking! Anna and Bates have always been my two favorites, but I couldn't get Anna's season 4 storyline out of my head and I wanted to write something from her perspective that shows what Fellowes didn't. Reviews are so welcome. Trigger warning—this deals with the attack, although not graphically.

**Disclaimer: **I can only dream of owning Downton.

Anna opened the small suitcase she had taken from the cottage, under John's silent, aching gaze. She pulled out her neatly-folded uniforms and chemises, her nightgown and stockings. All the lies she had told in the past month wrapped around her fingers, not giving and sliding like silk the way her dresses did. She would have to learn to live with these false words pinching her nerve endings and dirtying the white edges of her fingernails.

At the bottom, inside a cloth sack, was one of John's two undershirts. She had grabbed it from the clothes' basket when he had left her side to go to the kitchen. She hoped he wouldn't mind that she had left the laundry undone, and she hoped he wouldn't notice that she had taken one of his shirts. And part of her wished he would, so that he would understand that for all of her jagged words, she still loved him with every breath in her body.

She wanted his smell, the sharp peppermint and sweet cologne. She put it on, under her nightgown. This was the closest they would get to skin-to-skin now, now that she couldn't stand his touch.

And maybe it would stop the nightmares, his scent around her. Maybe she would dream of the cottage, of the time when she could let him wrap his arms around her, of hazel eyes swimming with stories of love.

Maybe she would, if she deserved him. But she didn't, not anymore.

She clutched a pillow tight, preparing for the nightmare she knew would come.

_It was Green, his hand across her mouth. She grasped his lapel in her hand, tried to throw off his precarious balance on top of her. She had one more layer of cloth before the world ended, the seconds coming faster than the tears on her cheeks. If only opera didn't sound like wailing—_

_His hand pushed down tighter; air was seeping through his fingers but not enough. Louder, scream louder. The world was going to end—_

"Anna!"

Someone was holding a hand across her mouth, a woman's voice. God, what had happened? Green, it had been Green.

"Anna, Anna dear, it's me."

"Oh, Mrs. Hughes—" was all she managed. The older woman took her in her arms and rocked her back and forth.

"I walked by your door and heard you having a nightmare, albeit quietly. I'm afraid I made it worse."

"No." She sucked in a breath, trying to preserve what little dignity she had left. "No, thank you for checking on me."

Mrs. Hughes' eyes were kind but focused, taking in every inch of the scar above Anna's eye. "Anna, you can't keep on like this. No one can. You must—if you aren't going to tell him, you must do something—talk to someone, talk to me or someone else you wouldn't mind sharing with—"

"And tell them what, Mrs. Hughes? That a handsome young man forced himself on me in my own workplace, in my home? Most likely they'd think I was trying to cover up an affair, and worse if they did believe me they wouldn't ever want to get near me again."

"But do I act that way?"

Anna turned her head away, her brow furrowing. "It's no use, Mrs. Hughes. I'll just have to manage as best I can."

"This isn't the life that was meant for you."

"Well, it's not something I can take back, is it?" He was like a poison, one that strengthened with time and invaded every centimeter of her body. Even she flinched when she heard the jagged edges to her words.

"Alright, then, if that's what you feel. I just don't think it's right." She stood up and straightened her dress. "I'm just down the hall if you want company during the night."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes."

"It's alright, my dear." She closed the door softly, pausing once to take in Anna's crumpled form.


	2. Chapter 2

Short update, but I wanted to share with you. The next chapter is going to be longer and will delve into Anna's past, something I know we all wonder about (Fellowes!). Thank you for all the wonderful reviews—it means so much.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything, pinky promise.

In the early morning light, Anna's bruises bloomed painfully bright across her cheekbone. She covered it as best she could.

Funny, she had always said she wouldn't use powder. It wasn't so scandalous nowadays, not like the rouge Mrs. Patmore nearly smacked off Ivy's face. Even Lady Mary wore it; though not anymore. She only wore it for Mr. Crawley.

John had always told her she was too beautiful to need any touching up; she would smack him across the arm and call him a silly beggar, and ask just what he was up to. Then he would pull her, giggling, into his arms. So strong, even after all those years away from the army.

Her reflection appeared in front of her again, severe and aged. The sun glinted across the mirror and sparks burst across her eyelids, the metal table burning her cheek like a firebrand. She was on the floor, fighting with all the determination she had honed over the years. It was no use.

Then she was left, dirtied and crumpled, on the floor. A little wingless bird.

She was so tired. Her mind only knew how to flutter between the thoughts that carved away at her heart and the most mundane of menial tasks, nothing in between. She wondered how long she could keep this up; she had to. For John. For Mrs. Hughes. For the woman that came to a big estate kilometers away from home, worked harder than she knew she could, stood by a man who didn't know his own worth, and broke him out of prison. For the woman she wouldn't be again.

She dropped her head as she walked towards the door, trying to collect herself before facing the breakfast table.

She came down the stairs to the servants' hall as she had a million times, in another life.

It was almost like he was in prison again, Anna realized. Wanting to touch him but not being able to; before, it had been the guard separating them. Now, that awful fear that lined the insides of her ribs and clenched at her heart at the worst times. The fear that she would mistake John's touch for _his. _

She had never felt something like this before, something that bowed her shoulders and forced her into the veil of shadows, as Mrs. Hughes called it. A place where words were screamed at her, sometimes in Green's voice and sometimes her own, words like _slut _and _traitor _and _unworthy_ and_ weak._

When she looked up, John was at the foot of the stairs. She prayed then that he wouldn't do this every morning from now on, now that she was in the house. Seeing the love in his eyes, realizing what she would have to do to drive him away, to keep him safe, might just be the death of her.


	3. Chapter 3

I'm back, everyone! I have to apologize for the horrendously long absence—we were abroad for about a month and then I came back to school and got sucked into the hell that is college apps. I must thank Mellowmom to infinity and beyond for reviewing and telling me she hoped I hadn't abandoned this story. It got pushed to the back of my mind and though it wasn't fully forgotten, I didn't quite feel the motivation to come back to it. You gave me the kick in the butt I needed, so thank you SO much for your sweet words.

The part about Anna's past I mentioned in the last chapter will be revealed in the next installment due to some rearranging. Hope you enjoy.

**Disclaimer: **If I owned this show I would've actively campaigned for JoFro to get the Emmy she deserved last night. So basically I own nothing.

Anna's shadow now lingered longer than she did. She entered rooms only to leave, if they didn't offer the solitary confinement she felt she deserved. And she nearly ran out if John was one of the faces that worried over her when she walked through a doorway.

First she tried hiding in the laundry, but that was no good. Maids in and out with their small talk, and a heart attack every time one of the girls burst in in a rush and clanked the heavy door.

She couldn't hide in her room; that was too obvious (but wasn't she already cut-glass, clear enough for them all to read?) and most of the other rooms downstairs were always occupied.

The boot room. It wasn't nearly as busy. She could keep to herself there.

And it was the proof of her guilt, the angry cuffs around her bruised wrists like the ones they had dragged John away in. For every moment she let him hope, for every moment she thought she could share it with him, this would be her punishment. This was where she belonged.

It was coming out of the boot room that he ambushed her (well, as much as a man with a cane can ambush. They would've chuckled at at that together, many months ago.) Anna was making tracks towards the servants' hall to check the ledger when he appeared out of the kitchen. He had no issue picking up speed for the short length of the hallway.

"Anna, we must talk."

"Not during the day. We can't be seen slacking."

"When else are we supposed to? It's not as if we have the walks home to catch up." She flinched, and he dropped his head. There was the vicious tongue his mother had spoken of. She never thought she'd push him to use it, the way Vera had. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to snap. Just a few minutes. You can manage that, surely."

"I can cover for you, Mrs. Bates." Baxter must've heard the end of their conversation. What was it she had said once to O'Briend about minding her own business? It seemed fitting, now. Though Anna couldn't bring herself to frown at the kind look on the woman's face.

"That would be much appreciated, Miss Baxter. Anna?" John searched for her approval. Her John, ever the gentleman.

"That's kind of you, Miss Baxter. We shan't be a moment."

She followed John out into the courtyard. God, she didn't want to ruin this place with lies that should've had no place between her and John. She would try and do it quickly, mercifully (why not tell the falsehoods to herself, too?)

She looked away, eyes already burning. "What is it?"

"I couldn't tell you. Only that something's gone terribly wrong."

(The court appeared in front of her. _This is-this is terribly, terribly wrong! _The jury was upon her, weighing her sins. Adultery, lies, a tongue like a whip. The scales were tipping.)

"How many times do I have to tell you? Nothing's—"

"I know, nothing's wrong. But that can't be the truth. Not when you won't look at me and we aren't even living in the same house." He moved closer to her, his voice gentle. "I don't know what I did, but I'd give anything to fix it. Just tell me and we'll go from there."

"John—" her voice caught. What could she even say to that? "I can't do this now. Please. Let's talk after dinner when we don't have to go back in right away."

She moved to hurry past him, but he grabbed her wrist. Ever so gently, but she just barely held back a shudder at the way they'd last held tighly. She looked up, only to find his eyes slightly glassy. (Would this awful pain never stop?)

"Anna, you must understand—I'm only trying to make things right."

"You did nothing."

He sighed, then gave her wrist a kind squeeze. She couldn't stop a slight moan; the bruises were still fresh on her skin. John frowned, and brushed the edge of her sleeve up.

"Anna?"

"From when I fainted. I must've—I think I tried to break the fall with my hand, somehow."

She pulled free and hurried back into the house then, hoping against hope that he wouldn't notice that purple bruises bloomed in the shape of a hand.


	4. Chapter 4

Hello, everyone! Thank you for all the sweet, inspiring reviews. This next chapter takes place the same day, shortly after their conversation in the courtyard. I hope you like where it goes—I always wondered if Mrs. Hughes wouldn't have tried some sort of subtle meddling to try and help our favorite couple out. So here's what I came up with. From my general outline, this story should be ending in a few chapters, so are there any other stories you'd like to see from me? Back to the good old days, S1 and S2, or modern? I'd love to keep writing for you if you want to read it.

**Disclaimer: **Unfortunately, no, I own nothing.

Mrs. Hughes knew very well she was meddling where she wasn't wanted. Well, at least on Anna's part. Mr. Bates, even with his pride that rivaled Mr. Carson's, would likely go door to door in the village asking for answers if he thought someone would tell him how to bring Anna back to herself.

She hadn't gotten a good look at Anna's room the night she'd gone in to wake her from her nightmare, but she was counting on Anna having some memento of her husband, a photograph or maybe a letter. Anything to prove he was still very much a part of her heart.

Mrs. Hughes found Mr. Bates in his wife's place in the bootroom, attacking a gleaming pair of shoes.

"Mr. Bates, might I ask you a favor?"

"Of course, Mrs. Hughes."

"I can't seem to find Anna, but I believe she took some of her Ladyship's mending up to her room last night to finish before bed and I thought I'd finish it off. Would you mind running upstairs and taking a look for me? I have to go calm down Mr. Carson." She was positively sure he could see the lies piling up at her feet, but it didn't matter. He jumped at the chance.

"Yes, I'll go right now."

"I appreciate it."

Mr. Bates went as quickly up the stairs as his leg would allow. He wanted time to himself in Anna's room, to see if he could make sense of this mess. How had they gotten to snooping through each other's things?

He opened the door slowly, hoping she wouldn't be up here for some reason. Mr. Bates had imagined so many times what it would be like to open the door to the women's corridor and come to Anna, spend the evening with her. He had tried to just think of them talking—he had had no right to think of anything else at the time, but his mind often wandered. But now they had a whole home to themselves and she had run away.

The first thing he saw was his photo on her nightstand. He had hurt so much, when she left the cottage and he returned upstairs to find their wedding photo still on her nightstand. But she'd kept this since—since prison. He'd given it to her their wedding day, before she'd surprised him with a trip to the photographer's. A piece of him should they be separated.

The mending was a distant memory. He slumped onto the bed, running his hands over where she now slept. Trying to pull any fibers of her out of the thin blanket.

His eyes combed the room. The mirror, the window, the wash basin. All like any servant's room. Her nightgown draped over the chair in the corner. Her nightgown and his nightshirt…

Mr. Bates moved off the bed to the desk, and fingered the nightshirt. He'd wondered if he'd been clumsy enough to lose one, but that wasn't like him, and then he'd wondered if she'd thrown it in with her things by mistake.

He brought it to his nose, and the smell of her skin hit him like a slap in the face. It hadn't been a mistake. Whatever it was, it wasn't that. She'd brought this with her and she'd worn it.

His head ached from everything he'd seen. Thank God, she still loved him. But she ran from him and was cloistered up in this room, suffering, and he could do nothing. Their love was twisting, falling—

"John?" Anna was standing in front of him, just barely inside the room. Her eyes were shuttered like they had been for weeks now, but he could traces of anger and—his heart trembled—fear, gleaming in her eyes. "What are you doing up here?!"

-Sorry for leaving you on a cliffhanger :)


	5. Chapter 5

Finally, I'm back! College apps are submitted (deferral from Harvard—everyone say a prayer that they'll accept me in the next round!) and I'm finally free to write. Here's the next installment—tell me what you think of this direction. I really wanted Anna to be the one to tell Mr. Bates about the attack, instead of it coming from an outside source, so here's my take on that. Hope you all are having a lovely holiday season. A/N: still don't own Downton :( "What are you doing up here?!" Anna cried. "This—this is my room."

John's mind was tumbling frantically over itself, trying to explain what was happening. Did he tell her that Mrs. Hughes had sent him in search of the mending? Or the truth—that he was trying to find out some sort of answer, or some way of being close to her?

Anna's eyes were flashing, like the steers when they realized they were being hunted. John watched her pupils dilate and realized it was not anger, but self-preservation. "Well? You have no right to be up here?"

Anna hated that her voice was coming out wincingly sharp, like twisted metal. She had to erase the evidence of her love—the photo, the nightshirt—with cruelty. But she wondered if she'd kill herself in the process.

Finally, John found his words. "You're correct that I have no right to be snooping, but as your husband I have every right to love you, and to worry for you." The nightshirt dropped from his hands and he looked Anna straight in the eye. For once, her head didn't drop towards her feet. "Anna, you put me back together when I first came to Downton. But you're ripping me apart now."

She was starting to cry. This wasn't right at all. She was so close to the dark edge, the world's end, where John found out and he went after Green and the police took him and her life was over. "Please, get out."

"No, Anna. This time I won't. I will stand here until you help me understand what's gone wrong. If I leave this room, it will be for good."

"No!" The word escaped Anna's lips before she could swallow it down. The thought of him leaving left red scratches up and down the sides of her throat. Wasn't that what she had been trying to accomplish? Maybe, but somehow she had always been counting on the fact that John wouldn't leave her.

Her legs melted under her from the thoughts swirling round her head. She shuffled to the bed just in time, sinking onto the mattress with her head in her hands.

As soon as John heard her soft sobs, he sat on the bed next to her. Gently, he wrapped his arms around her, and she shuddered momentarily but then returned the embrace. He could feel warm wetness spreading across his coat, and he didn't care. His heart was breaking at the sight of his wife crying, but at the same time it was healing in that she was finally letting him in.

"You have my photo…my nightshirt. You still love me?"

He felt her head nod slowly against his chest.

"Thank God."

"I could never stop loving you," Anna whispered.

"Then what was the meaning of this past month?"

Anna pulled out of his arms and refocused her eyes on her lap. Her face shuttered again, taking on the dead look he had come to dread. Was he losing her again, after the first real truths they had uttered in all this time?

"It's been like a nightmare I can't wake up from," she muttered, her hands playing with the fabric of her dress."

"What's been like a nightmare?"

"I didn't tell you because I was so scared. That you would think of me differently or… that you would do something terrible."

"Anna, you're scaring me," he rasped.

"If I'm to tell you, you must promise me to just listen, and never to act on anything. This must remain in the past."

"I can't promise anything without knowing what I'm agreeing to."

Anna's hand grabbed his, tight like a snake. Her eyes were on his, unbreakable. "Promise me. You must."

"Anna—"

"John."

"Fine," he sighed. "I promise."

Anna pulled away again, into herself. "I…I was attacked."


End file.
